


but a walking shadow

by Bether



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Episode Related, Extended Scene, Family, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Not Beta Read, POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-22
Updated: 2009-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bether/pseuds/Bether
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ziva's thought process as she finally goes to see Gibbs (during <i>Hiatus Part II</i>) and eventually helps him regain his memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but a walking shadow

**Author's Note:**

> First NCIS fic. Set during the second half of _Hiatus Part II_, so some of the dialogue is taken directly from there. The title is part of a longer quote from Shakespeare's _MacBeth_ , which goes: "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets it's hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more." Cheers!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of CBS/DPB. I am simply borrowing them for my purposes. Same goes for the quotes from Shakespeare and e.e. cummings' works. Please don't sue.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
     -- e. e. cummings, _i carry your heart with me_

* * *

Most of the time, Ziva David wasn't one for reflection. It wasn't that she held a lot of regrets in her life (well, not exactly, anyway) but more that making the hard decisions weighed easier on her soul when they were made and then done with. Especially when those decisions concerned life and death. She didn't mind, though—in fact, she liked it that way. Living as she did worked for her. It had for years.

Unfortunately, Gibbs losing his memory was an unexpected new weight—one lay deep within her chest, making it hard to think. Hard to breathe. Hard to _function_. The only way she could ignore something so heavy was to pretend everything was okay. To pretend that she wasn't concerned for Gibbs (because he would be fine, so what was the point, yes?) and act as though everything was business as usual.

Deep down, she knew it was _not_ business as usual. But if she was going to be of any use on the case, she had to act as if it was. It didn't matter if it bewildered Tony or McGee. It didn't matter if it angered Abby, though she could have done without the subsequent provocation. (Frustration like this leading to violence only made her crave more violence and without a proper outlet, well…)

But the truth was simple. The case was not getting solved. Tony knew it. McGee knew it. Abby knew it. Jenny knew it. Hell, even Ducky knew it. They needed Gibbs. There was no option left. And if there was one thing Ziva David was good at (besides being Mossad), it was doing whatever needed to get done in order to have justice served. Apparently the others couldn't. So she would.

It wasn't hard to slip past the nurse's desk, despite the late hour, and she didn't have any difficulty finding Gibbs' room. She had heard the number often enough in the last few days. Her footsteps made a quiet tapping sound as she glided into the room. He looked peaceful where he lay and she wondered if remembering would take that away from him. Ziva shook it off. It was a risk she had to take.

Before she fully prepared herself for waking him, she touched his arm absentmindedly. It was not the sort of thing she usually did—her movements were known for being both methodical and calculated—and it surprised her when he reacted. Part of her had needed to know that the tubes were real, though. (He'd always seemed so impervious, so _immortal_ before.) That _he_ was real. Just to be sure.

There was no recognition in his eyes when he looked at her. No spark of any kind. Her heart had lifted when he mentioned September 11th (an odd occurrence) but it was for naught. He didn't remember the day. It was a relief to see him moving and asking questions, even standing. This was all good. Good but not good enough. She needed more. She needed to find a way to reach him—the Gibbs _she_ knew.

It was so _frustrating!_ She could hear herself losing her temper. But maybe that was what he needed? Everybody else handled him with kid gloves. She did not own these gloves. And it worked! Even for a moment, she recognized his Stare. She could feel tears of joy forming in the corners of her eyes upon seeing it but he was still so agitated. He _didn't_ remember.

That's when it hit her. She grabbed his hand and made him slap her head. It was so _Gibbs_, surely it would jog something in his mind. His eyes widened and she saw it. She could see his mind working. Like he almost remembered, but wasn't enough. It was then that she realized the truth. The truth she'd been hiding from herself. They needed Gibbs for the case, yes, but it was just an excuse.

This, all of this—all the rationalizing and ignoring and waiting—it was all a ruse. Something to hide behind because, in truth, she needed him to remember just as much as the rest of them. Perhaps even more. He was the only one who knew what really happened that night with Ari. The _only_ one because he had been there. The reports were false. The story she told her father was a lie. Nobody else knew and if he couldn't remember…

If he didn't remember then the memory of that ultimate truth would be hers and hers alone. It would be her burden to carry without any hope of relief. She had never spoken of losing her brother, never cried save that first night (and even that was short-lived due mostly to shock) and now she might never have a chance. Not with the one person who knew what she'd _really_ lost that night.

Would it still be real, then? If she was left alone to remember and she ignored it, would it be like it never happened? It had been just one shot, after all. One single shot perfectly timed and aimed. One shot that had so fundamentally changed her course in life, she barely recognized her former self. But if Gibbs couldn't remember… would it she be losing all that she'd gained? She couldn't explain why, but she felt it might just be.

She was crying now but only barely. She knew what she had to do, and she knew it would hurt. "Ari." His name and she could barely keep her composure. "Ari killed Kate." The Look again. It was working. Something in his mind was clicking. Taking a breath, Ziva pushed forward, "And I—" She could feel the sobs catch in her throat. She'd never said it aloud before. She couldn't back then.

But right now, here with Gibbs, it felt like she needed to. No matter how it hurt, it was time to speak the truth. Because he was the one person that she could do this with. And maybe… maybe they _both_ needed this (if for different reasons). "I killed Ari."

It sounded strange to her ears and the tears were coming full strength now. Ziva couldn't remember the last time she'd cried—_really_ cried like this. Not at Ari's funeral. Perhaps at Tali's? And that had been so many years ago. Everything in her was out of sorts, and she had a sinking feeling things would never be fixed if he didn't remember that moment. (If they even could be fixed at all.)

"Your brother."

Even through the haze of her mind, Ziva could feel relief wash over her. He was remembering—truly remembering. She had not told him that. "Yes," was all she managed to get out, though. It was an effort just to keep from breaking. She couldn't be weak; she was Mossad. But Gibbs was… he was all the hope she had to assure her she hadn't killed Ari (her _flesh and blood_, her beloved older brother) for _nothing_.

"You killed your brother," Gibbs continued, slowly with growing certainty. "To save me."

There was no option for a verbal response now. Ziva was, as Tony would say, a 'hot mess'. She nodded as the last of her resolve broke. She was shaking and sobbing but the weight in her chest was finally beginning to lift. Gibbs wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly and petting her hair. It was something her father would not have done; she was eternally grateful all the same.

Minutes passed before her sobs quieted to whimpers and then she was only sniffling as she extracted herself from the embrace she'd never realized she so desperately needed (not that she'd admit or otherwise acknowledge that fact, even under pain of death). After a few deep breaths, she met his gaze evenly. "Thank you," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear—the only sign of her discomfort.

Gibbs smiled a little, the way he always did when he was amused by his agents' antics, but chose not to comment. She was grateful for the reprieve. "So, Pin Pin Pula?" he asked instead, running a hand over his recently shortened hair and pulling a face. Ziva nodded. "Are you waiting for an invitation, Officer David? Find me some clothes!" He scowled. "I'm not going to headquarters in this gown."

Still visibly relieved, Ziva smirked a little. "Yes, Gibbs." She wiped her eyes quickly and blew her nose with a tissue before heading for the door.

"And find the doctor, would ya?" he called after her. "I don't wanna spend another minute in this damn room!"

Ziva smiled as she followed her boss's orders. Gibbs was back. And that was enough for her.


End file.
